


The Same Air Exhaled

by Arsenic



Series: Slave!Ryan 'Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, references to slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: A coda to Fair Market Value. Ryan falls sick, Brendon and Spencer are not very pleased by this turn of events.





	The Same Air Exhaled

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Illness, mentions of slavery
> 
> AN: This unbeta'ed, partially because I rarely have codas beta'ed, and partially b/c when writing a coda for a fic that went up years ago, it's harder to find someone to do so. This is for my egelantier who donated to my fundraising efforts for LLS and requested a ficlet in the FMV universe. I hope she enjoys it, for she is my heart, and far too good to me. Used to fill my "pneumonia" square on hc_bingo.

Ryan fell asleep while Brendon was playing the piano. He hadn't even been playing something quiet or soothing, he'd been adapting a fiddle tune Ray had played over a fire in the last days of fall. Brendon wasn't hurt by Ryan's actions. Although winter had come and there was not much that could be done in the fields, fall's harvest, not so far behind them, had been backbreaking. They were still in the midst of working to preserve that which would not make it through the winter simply by lying chilled in the cellar. It had been an exhausting month or so.

What concerned Brendon was that Ryan had never, ever fallen asleep while listening to him play. It was Ryan's favorite time of day, the one he never asked for, but during which he always glowed brightest. Brendon frowned over at Spencer, who was also looking at Ryan, uncertain of how to take this change in behavior.

After a moment, Spencer said softly, "I suppose we'd best get him to bed. He'll take a chill sleeping out here."

They reserved most of the firewood for their bedroom, particularly at night. Brendon nodded. Ryan woke slightly when they pulled him up, his eyes glazed with fatigue. He said, "Sorry, I didn't—sor—"

"Sh," Spencer said, "nobody's upset."

Ryan tended to revert to old habits when he was halfway asleep, moreso if he wasn't feeling well. It worried Brendon. He could tell it concerned Spencer, too. When they were in the bedroom, Spencer sat Ryan on the bed and removed his shoes. Brendon stoked the fire. They positioned Ryan between them and fell asleep, remaining in contact with each other.

*

It would have been fine, Brendon thought, if not for the storm, or at least, if not for the separation caused by the storm. Brendon had gone out, ironically, to pick up some medicine from Dr. Way to help Ryan fight the cold that seemed to be coming upon him. Spencer had been visiting with Crystal, who had married the season before and set up her own household. She often knitted scarves and other useful wintertime items, so Spencer had gone to see if he could borrow a few extra blankets.

The storm came on quickly while they were both out, making it impossible for them to venture back. Brendon tried, but Dr. Way blocked the door and even struggled with him, saying forcefully, "You're no good to him if you get lost in the blizzard and freeze to death."

It took six hours for the driving snow to stop, and by then it was pitch black, non-navigable even without the considerable snow-depth and the drifts that were forming, twice as large as Brendon. Brendon spent the night frantic, awake in front of the glowing fire and hoping against hope that Spencer had gotten home, that Ryan was feeling well enough to stoke the fire, to heat himself food over said fire.

Dr. Way said, quietly, "Until sunrise, then we’ll ride there together. I am certain he is fine, Brendon."

He didn't sound certain, though. Over the years, Brendon had learned to read his tones. Brendon said, "Sunrise," and prayed for the earth to spin faster.

*

Ryan had been doing his best to take care of himself. Brendon was worried enough to go for medicine that they could ill-afford and Spencer was appealing to his sister for blankets she would need for her own household. He wasn't going to cause any more trouble. He kept the fire going, even leaving the house for more wood. Spencer had cut up quite a bit earlier in the week, so there was plenty, it just had to be brought inside.

He heated tea over the fire and soup, which he made himself eat despite not being hungry at all. He saw the storm coming in and wished desperately, against all logic, that Spencer and Brendon would make it back for the night. Sleeping by himself still brought nightmares.

He knew he should bring in more firewood before the worst of it hit, but his chest was hurting, his breaths coming in sharp gasps and he was so cold already, despite being in front of the fire. He brought the blankets from the bedroom into the main area, where he had the fire already burning, and curled up to sleep on the floor. If they made it back they would wake him, herd him into bed.

Instead he woke in the dark and cold dead of the night, the storm still howling around the house. He got to his hands and knees and coughed so hard and long he felt something pop in his chest, the feeling an explosion of sun-bright agony. He needed to stoke the fire, maybe to force some tea down his burning throat, but the thought of rising was infinitely wearying. Sleep usually didn’t appeal after a nightmare, especially without the others there, but even with the uneasiness stirred by the dreams he couldn't remember, all Ryan seemed to be able to manage was lying back down, shivering beneath the blankets and returning to sleep.

*

Brendon had not slept for worry. He still hoped Spencer had been able to depart from his sister's in time to get home to Ryan, but he doubted it. The storm had simply come on too quickly.

When the sun finally began to peer over the eastern edge of the world, Brendon went to leave a note for Dr. Way but the man was already up, getting into his warmest clothes. He said, "I think I'd best accompany you."

Brendon didn't argue, despite the fact that he knew it was polite to do so. He was too worried.

They set out at a torturously slow pace, but there was nothing to be done for it. The horses simply could not move any faster in the deep snow, and even with the snowfall having stopped, the wind was still whipping what had fallen about, and visibility was next to nothing. When they finally got to the barn on the Urie-Smith property Brendon was chilled through to the bone, frantic to get himself inside.

Only, when they walked inside the house was chilled through. There was a lump of blankets on the floor and it took a few seconds for Brendon to realize _Ryan_ was making that shape. Brendon gasped and dove toward Ryan, getting down on his knees to push the blankets back, murmuring, "Ry, _Ryan_."

When he found Ryan, it was by the heat coming off of him, his skin a dull red. Ryan moaned when Brendon tried to pull him into his lap, the sound evidently setting off a round of coughing that made Ryan cry. Brendon looked up at Dr. Way anxiously.

Dr. Way said, "Build up the fire in the bedroom and heat some water, please."

He gently pushed Brendon to his feet and took his place, lifting Ryan, who whimpered. Dr. Way said, "I know, but I need to get you off the floor."

Ryan mumbled, "Please, please," and Brendon cringed, because he knew the sound of that pleading, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Dr. Way was hurting him. That was the sound of Ryan being lost in his memories.

Brendon forced himself to go outside, to hurry, because Ryan needed the fire. He had barely made it out the door when he ran into Spencer, who looked as panicked as Brendon felt. Spencer asked, "Ryan?"

Brendon shook his head. "Dr. Way's looking him over. He said to get a fire in the bedroom. I think both the rooms would be best. He was—he _felt_ like a fire."

Spencer nodded and walked with him to the stable, where the wood pile was kept so it would remain dry. They each took as much as they could carry and hurried back to the house, going about making the fires as quickly as possible. It still took far too long for the house to warm.

The two of them did their best to stay out of the doctor's way but still be in a place where they could hear what he said, what Ryan answered. Ryan wasn't saying much that made sense, just making muted, frenzied cries of pain and begging to be told what he'd done wrong. Brendon drove his nails into his wrist as far as he could, wanting to beat all the people who'd laid hands on Ryan, made him crawl, until they were begging themselves for mercy Brendon had no intention of granting.

Dr. Way asked for assistance, and Spencer helped him get some medicine into Ryan, curling himself gently around Ryan to try and soothe him to sleep. The doctor touched Brendon's arm and motioned to the main room. Brendon followed him. He said, "You should go back in there and help him stay calm in a moment. Let me leave instructions of how to care for him."

"What is wrong?" Brendon asked, proud of how he managed to keep his tone even.

"Some type of chest infection. He'll need all of your strength as well as his to fight it. He's already cracked one of his ribs, which is making the pain worse. You'll need to keep his fever down and keep fluids in him, plus give him medications every few hours. The pain ones you can stop whenever he ceases to need them, the others must be taken until they are gone. I will return tomorrow to see his progress."

Brendon rocked on his feet. "Thank you. We have some salted meat—"

Dr. Way shook his head. "Just care for him."

Brendon knew it was charity, but he was too worried about Ryan to be able to fight at the moment. He saw Dr. Way out the door, and went to join the others in bed.

*

Ryan's world was largely pain and fear, but he was vaguely aware of two solid, warm bodies surrounding him. He tried to cling to them, somehow certain they wouldn't let anything bad happen. There was noise, maybe words, and Ryan knew he should listen, should _obey_ , because not doing so got a slave more hurt, but he couldn't. Even trying his best to stay present, aware, he was pulled under, the darkness insistent and ever so much stronger than he was.

*

Ryan slept restlessly, despite Brendon and Spencer's best efforts to keep him cool, make sure he had enough pain medication. He cried out words like, "No," and "please," and other things Brendon hated hearing, even after all these years, even knowing they were just memories. Madrigal would jump onto the bed whenever he began to fuss, nosing at his hand or licking his nose, but even that wasn't enough to drag him up from his fears. Brendon discovered, completely by accident, the only thing that could was getting Ryan to curl his fingers over the chain at his neck, particularly at the point where the clasp was soldered shut.

Just when Dr. Way was starting to look resigned, Ryan's fever broke and he slept a full day and night without waking, without even moving. Spencer said, "I never thought I'd be so glad he's breathing loudly."

Brendon leaned against Spencer in exhaustion and agreement.

*

Ryan woke up with the sense he'd been beaten. For a moment his brain was nothing but an incoherent mess of memory, distorted by fever and sickness. Then he opened his eyes to see Brendon sleeping right beside him, eyes ringed with dark bruises. Spencer was sitting in a chair by the bed, reading. He did not look much better. Ryan tried to say, "Spence," but it came out as a cough, and Ryan couldn't help curling around his ribs.

The motion woke Brendon up and he said, "Oh! You're awake," sounding so happy about it Ryan wondered exactly how bad it had been. He was kind of glad he couldn't remember much of it.

Spencer had already moved to his other side and was now helping him up, putting a cup of water to his lips. Ryan made himself drink slowly. When he was done he turned his head slightly, with a whispered, "Thanks."

"Please don't ever, ever do that again," Brendon said, the plea full of fear.

Ryan laid back down carefully and wormed his way into Brendon's grasp. Madrigal had been making her way over their legs and back since he'd woken and now she settled in the crook of Ryan's knees, warm and familiar. He told Brendon, "Sorry," but it wasn't the kind of apology they'd begun with, where Ryan was apologizing for existing, apologizing as an appeasement tactic. No, Ryan could practically smell the dissipating terror on Brendon and Spencer. And even if he still wasn't sure how he'd come to inspire such strong emotions, if he deserved to have done so, he didn't like scaring them.

"Sorry," he repeated softly. And then, "Spence."

Spencer, knowing exactly what Ryan needed without him having to ask, got in bed and curled around Ryan, careful not to dislodge Madrigal. Ryan wasn't sure when he had learned to do this, or relearned, perhaps, but he knew, at times, precisely how to soothe the others. He couldn't sing, not with his lungs messed up, couldn't even really talk much, but he could hum a little.

He chose the first song Brendon had ever played on this piano, the one they came back to most often. When he was done, he said, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He wasn't sure, but he thought the others fell asleep just slightly before he did.


End file.
